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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781637">Lovers' Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinside/pseuds/winterisakiller'>winterisakiller (sparkinside)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fatherhood - A Tom Hiddleston series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Loss, Minor Character Death, original child character - Freeform, tumblr fic request</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinside/pseuds/winterisakiller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A devastating loss reveals a life-changing truth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fatherhood - A Tom Hiddleston series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lovers' Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story contains mentions of death (not Tom). This was brought about by this ask:</p>
<p>"May I request something about Tom Hiddleston meeting the son he never knew he had?"</p>
<p>I don’t know if this was what you had in mind, but this is what my brain came up with, nonny. I hope you enjoy.</p>
<p>Thank you a hundred thousand times over to @ciaodarknessmyheart for being my sounding board for this, encouraging me to run with the idea, and helping inspire what has happened and might possibly happen in future.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <a href="https://ibb.co/DrNL2Tr">
      
    </a>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <em>But do not ask the price I pay</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I must live with my quiet rage</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tame the ghosts in my head</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> That run wild and wish me dead</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Should you shake my ash to the wind</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Lord forget all of my sins</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And let me die where I lie</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Beneath the curse of these lovers eyes</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The word fell from Tom’s lips in a pained whisper. He’d been up for the better part of two days, had seen the inside of no less than four airports and just as many planes, had ridden in the back of several cabs in the vain hope of getting there in enough time. Everything ached; his eyes, his body, his mind</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…He’d been too late. He’d known he was too late by the tightness he could see in the reddened eyes staring back at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Two hours ago.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despair flooded his senses and he felt his knees give way, falling back against the wall behind him. He slipped wordlessly to the floor, fighting to breathe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he’d gotten the call on set, Tom had felt as though the world was splintering around him. Though it had been years since she spoken to her last, years since he’d made the single most idiotic decision of his adult life, he’d never once forgotten Elizabeth Michaels. His Eliza. He’d made peace with what happened between them in the best way he’d known how, by believing that she’d moved on with her life. That she had found someone, had a family, had the life he hadn’t been willing to give her at the time. The thought of her out there happy and whole made his own bitter disappointment in his failings an easier burden to bear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of that had been ripped away when he’d taken the call only to hear her mother say, “Eliza’s dying, she’s asking for you. She doesn’t have long now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d all but run from the set, not bothering to explain his absence as he dialed his driver and sped back towards the hotel. He’d managed to shove as many clothes as he could into a carryall along with his passport, charge cord, and wallet when Luke’s call came. He listened without really hearing as Luke berated him for his complete and utter lack of professionalism. “What the fuck is going on? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I need you to get me a flight home now,” Tom hissed, cutting his publicist off mid rant. “I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care what it costs. Just do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tom what is going on?” Exasperation and confusion colored his tone. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never heard Tom like this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eliza…” He choked the name out, feeling the tears he’d kept at bay threatening to break free. “I need to…Please Luke….”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luke had never met Eliza but had known enough of her importance in Tom’s life to understand something drastic had happened. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m headed to the airport now,” Tom explained before abruptly ending the call. Fuck professionalism and fuck his other obligations. He’d let Eliza down once and if she was…If he was going to lose her for good, he couldn’t let her down now. Not and be able to live with himself after.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The trip down the elevator, across the lobby, and back into the car passed in a blur. He growled at his driver to make for the airport and settled uncomfortably against the leather seat as the city flew past his window in a blur of color and motion. The freeway was packed and Tom near pulled his hair out as the minutes ticked by. How long did he have to get to her? The crushing weight of the unknown bore down on his shoulders and he yelled at the driver to go faster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His phone chimed with a text from Luke. He’d managed to squeeze him on a flight leaving in an hour and a half. From there he’d catch another two flights before he’d be back on British soil. It was far less than ideal but it was the best Luke could do with such short notice. Especially with the storms that were set to be rolling in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom didn’t remember pulling into the drop off point at the airport or running for the ticket desk. All he could remember was clutching the boarding passes the woman behind the counter had given him as if they were the only things tethering him to this earth. He’d darted from the desk, through security and had all but thrown the boarding pass at the startled gate attendant as he skidded to a halt. The man scanned his ticket without comment and Tom had run down the walkway and into the plane.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d tried to sleep on the flight but found his mind refused to shut off. Images of Eliza; her bright hazel eyes, the warm smile she wore whenever she saw him, the way her face lit up when she laughed, her coppery hair gleaming in the sunlight as she lay against him; flooded his mind every time he closed his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d been so happy. So fucking happy and he had to go and ruin it. She’d been patient, understanding. Acting had been such an integral part of him, had been something he’d worked so hard at for so long. She’d sent him off with the promise that she would be there when he came home, be there when he needed her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it had worked, at first. He’d thrown himself into his work but had always made sure to keep in touch with her. To phone whenever he could, to video call and when he was able fly back to spend whatever time he could with her. But as his demand grew those calls and visits slowly fell to the wayside until it had been months since he’d last seen her and weeks since they’d spoken.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom would never forget the look on her face the last time he had seen her, a video call he hadn’t expected her to answer but knew he’d had to make. The pain and heartbreak in her eyes when he’d told her maybe it was for the best they ended things. His career was soaring and he couldn’t let anything hold him back. He was sorry but he couldn’t see any other way. She’d smiled at him, a broken, weak smile and wished him all the best. She told him she would always love him and that she’d understood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And afterwards he’d thrown himself into his work. Burying himself in role after role, trying for any and everything. He refused to say no. Refused to take a break. Refused to slow down. This was his chance and he could not, <em>would not</em>, throw it away. He ignored the concerned looks from his team and brushed off the worried calls from his family. He ran at a breakneck speed until he’d finally one night he’d crashed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom couldn’t remember where in the world he was, only that it was late and he was alone and for whatever reason that had become simply unbearable. He’d dialed Eliza’s number without even thinking, needing to hear her voice. Needing her gentle wisdom to soothe the unending weight he carried. But the number rang out as unavailable. He dialed it again only to receive the same message. Confused and terrified, he’d called his sister thinking maybe she’d have Eliza’s number. Or at least an explanation. They had been close before. Maybe they still were.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it had been of no use. Emma hadn’t spoken with Eliza in nearly a year, not long after things had ended between them, and last she’d known Eliza had left for the states and hadn’t given any forwarding information. He’d thrown his phone across the darkened room, screaming every obscenity that came to mind. Frustrated tears streamed from his eyes as he let the years’ worth of pressure, disappointment, and regret flood through him. He understood then, all too well, what he’d given up…What he’d thrown aside and for the first time the guilt he’d pushed aside broke free.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he’d woken up that next morning, head pounding and eyes raw, he called his agent and Luke and asked if there was any way he could get time to clear his head. The three weeks they’d managed to eke out of the production company of his latest project were spent curled up in his mother’s sitting room or in the house he’d bought but hadn’t truly moved into. He slept and ate and tried to recharge the battery he’d very much run into the ground with such dedication.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He emerged with a heaviness he couldn’t quite shake but steady enough to push on. His work, his career, this was what he had now. He’d given up something irreplaceable and precious for it, failing now wasn’t an option. As the years passed he comforted himself with the thought that Eliza was out there happy and chasing her own dreams. She would have married and had a family, of that he was certain, even if the very idea of it felt like a lead ball in his gut. She would be happy and whole and better for not having to chase after his shadow. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to be enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it had been until his phone rang and the ground fell out beneath him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His body shook as his grief consumed him. She was gone. His Eliza was gone. He was too late. Always too late. He brought his knees to his chest, clinging to them as he rocked back against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Why hadn’t he gotten there sooner? Why couldn’t he ever seem to do right by her? Why?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he cried out, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words were of little use. It didn’t matter how sorry he was. Sorry wouldn’t change things. Sorry couldn’t bring her back. Sorry couldn’t change the choices he made. But god he was so fucking sorry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know how long he’d sat on that floor, curled as tightly into himself as he could manage, drowning in his own grief and self-loathing. Eliza had been the one bright thing in his life and he’d thrown her away without a care. He’d taken the gift she’d given him and tossed it aside as if it were meaningless. And for what? The stupid need to prove himself. To be the best he could be at pretending to be someone else. God, he was such a fool. Such a complete and utter fool. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thomas.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He blinked up at the sound of his name, confusion and disorientation clouding his features. His back was stiff and sore, his head pounding. He’d known the voice, known it but couldn’t seem to place it. Eyes clearing, the blurred form of Keira Michaels came into view, her eyes lined with stress and grief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eliza’s mother had always been a formidable woman. Strong willed and opinionated, she had made her feelings towards Tom well known. “A decent enough boy, Eliza, but tied to his work. Be careful with him, he’s one who will do what it takes to survive.” And he’d proved her right, though it had never been his intention. He’d loved Eliza with every fiber of his being but his ambition and his need to prove himself had led him to walk away. To push her away without a thought. And what had that cost him? Cost them both?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom had never thought he would see Keira again. And certainly never like this. They sat in uncomfortable silence, quietly sharing the unbearable chasm of loss between them. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took him several moments to gather himself enough to choke out, “How could I not?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt the older woman’s dark eyes narrowing on him. “You left easily enough, it stands to reason you’d be reluctant to return.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fury and shame burned twin flames within him. “I love her. That hasn’t ever changed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keira’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve a funny way of showing it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took all he had to bite his tongue to keep from snarling back at her. Keira would never think anything but ill of him and he knew it was as much as he deserved. He loved Eliza but had walked away and now it was too late to fix it. Too late to make any of it right. Tears burned in his eyes once again and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a desperate bid to stop them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Several deep breaths later Tom found his voice. “If you were so sure I wouldn’t come, why did you call?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because she asked for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A fresh stab of pain bloomed in his chest at the words. Confusion and guilt followed soon after. Why had she asked for him? How could he be the person she wanted in the end after he’d left her? Eliza had always been an open, loving, generous person; it had been one of the many, many things he’d loved about her. She had a big heart, a kind and understanding heart. But even the kindest person had their limits surely. And what did it matter now? He’d come too late. She’d asked and he hadn’t come in time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You and I…We’ve never seen eye to eye, I doubt we ever will.” Keira spoke, her voice coming from what felt like miles away; quiet and barely audible. Tom blinked up at her before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. The world tilted alarmingly, his vision tunneling as his hand shot out to brace against the wall to keep himself upright. “And if she hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted…But she…My girl, she never stopped loving you, for all the good it and you did her. And there were things she wanted to tell you…Things she should have told you. Things you need to know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t make sense of the words. “I don’t understand…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keira sighed, digging into the bag that hung by her side. She pulled out a folded envelope and thrust it in Tom’s direction. He stared at it and then at her. “She gave me this for you…In case you didn’t…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom swallowed thickly, taking the envelope with a shaking hand. He unfolded it slowly, nearly dropping it when his name written in her delicate hand caught his eye. The urge to tear it to pieces and throw it in the nearest fire battled with the need to tear it open and read the words she’d left for him. So he stood with it shaking in his hands, staring without seeing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You need to sleep, Thomas. Get yourself some sleep, read that, and when you’re ready we’ll talk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without giving him a chance to answer, Keira turned on her heel and walked away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It went against everything in him, leaving the hospital before he’d even seen…But did he truly want to see her body? Seeing that would make things real and right now real was the absolute last thing he wanted. Seeing her cold, empty and knowing that would be the last image he would ever have of her…No, most definitely not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hotel he’d stumbled into was a ten minute ride from the hospital. He could have braved the longer drive back to London and the comfort of his own bed, but doing so now felt like the worst sort of betrayal. So he’d gone to the nurse’s station down the hall and asked for the nearest hotel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Flustered, the nurse stared back at him for several minutes before mumbling something and handing him a piece of paper with the information he’d asked for. Part of him understood she’d recognized him but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t bother to fake a smile and put on the charm he was well known for. What was the point of any of it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room was dark and the bed comfortable enough. Tom hadn’t paid attention to any of it. Not in the cab ride over, nor at the check in desk, nor in the elevator, nor when he opened the door and stumbled inside. He dropped his bag by the desk and fell heavily on top of the maroon duvet. He had no intention of sleeping, hadn’t felt he’d earned the right to such an escape, but his body had other plans and it had gone far too long without having them fulfilled. He’d blinked once and gave into the exhaustion clawing at his bones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he came to the room was black as pitch. Disorientation and panic flooded through him as his sleep-logged brain struggled to orient itself. Everything came back with a sickening realization; where he was, just why he was there, all the madness and pain of the last several days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Eliza. Oh God</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He scrambled from the unmade bed and practically threw himself into the cramped bathroom, dropping to his knees and vomiting into the toilet. He clung to the cool porcelain of the bowel as the nausea radiated over him again and again and again. Tears burned in his eyes, blurring his vision. But he didn’t care. She was gone and everything he had prayed had been a terrible, horrific nightmare had been real. And there was nothing he could do to change it. With trembling hands, he pushed himself back, closing the lid and resting his head against it. The room spun around him despite his refusal to watch. Once it seemed to calm, Tom raised his head once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking, he pushed himself first to his knees and then unsteadily to his feet. Violent flashes of red and black clouded his vision as he stumbled into the vanity, gripping the cool Formica top to keep from crumpling back to his knees. The pain in his thigh told him there would be bruises forming there soon enough.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reaching out, he turned on the faucet and splashed cool water against his flushed skin. He hadn’t the faintest idea what time it was, hadn’t bothered to turn his phone one since he’d boarded that last plane. There would be untold number of messages and missed calls waiting for him, he knew that without question. Luke might not have fought him initially but he would be expecting an explanation; if only to appease the feathers Tom had undoubtedly ruffled with his hasty exit. But he hadn’t the patience for any of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a shuddering breath, Tom dried his face and made his way back into the main room, hitting the wall several times with an opened palm until he managed to hit the overhead light switch. Scrubbing his face with his palms, Tom dropped onto the bed. Even with sleep under his belt his head still felt fuzzy and slow despite the jumble of confused thought buzzing through it. He fell back against the mattress, turning as he heard the crinkle of paper beneath his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He saw it then. The letter. <em>Her </em>letter. His fingers felt numb as he struggled to grab the envelope. As he held it, Tom felt his chest tighten. Could he open it, read the words she left for him, knowing they were her last? The paper shook in his hands as he slid a finger beneath the seal and ripped. Shook even harder as he pulled the folded paper out and let his eyes fall upon her neat hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Tom,</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hello my darling man. It has been such a long time since I have called you that so please forgive me the liberty of doing so again. This is not the way I wanted to have this conversation but time and fate aren’t on my side any longer. And I am sorry for telling you this way. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>But before I delve into my reasons for writing this, I wanted to tell you how immensely proud I am of you. I’ve watched you shine these last several years, watched your dreams come true. I always knew, down deep in my bones, that you were meant for great things and despite how things ended between us I do not begrudge you for it. I wanted to and I admit for a good while I tried. It was so much easier, at first, being angry. But anger never solves anything and I knew then and I still know now that maybe my place in your life was simply to help you along this path. I wish it had been more. I wish we’d been more and maybe if I had fought harder…</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It doesn’t matter now. I made my choices and so have you. I am proud of you, though. You shine in ways I always knew you would. Please keep shining, Tom. Never stop. You never know how long you’ll have. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>This next part is the one of the most difficult things I have ever done. My intention was to tell you myself, to be open and honest as I should have been all those years ago. But if you are reading this then I either could not face it or it was too late. And I’m sorry for either of those options. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The day you called, the last time we spoke, I had been working up the nerve to tell you that I was pregnant. We have a son and he is the most wonderful little boy. His name is James William. Jaime. He’s nearly five now and looks so much like you it tears my heart.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I should have told you when I knew. I should have told you that day. It wasn’t right to keep it from you. To keep him from you and I know that. Just as I know you will be angry with me for a long time over this. I don’t blame you for that and I deserve your ire. I kept something so important from you and that is not something easily forgiven. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I could see then how much your career meant, could see how things were only just starting for you. And I knew how important it all was for you. How you needed to do this, needed to take those chances and that you couldn’t afford the ties I brought. You told me that day you loved me but that we were a distraction and you couldn’t have that. If I was a distraction on my own, what would our child be? So I kept my silence and I let you go. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It was wrong of me. I should have told you. You deserved the chance to make up your own mind. But I took that choice from you and I hadn’t the right. For that I am so terribly sorry. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve had years to wrestle with the guilt of keeping something so important from you. There have been so many times I wanted to reach out, so many times I should have. But I didn’t. Each time I wanted to the knowledge that I hadn’t stayed my hand. How could I explain? So I kept keeping this from you and I will never forgive myself that. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Please don’t blame Jaime for this. Don’t let your anger at me colour your knowledge of him. He is my light and my world. None of this is his fault. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I have always loved you, Tom. Even when it would have been a great deal easier not to. There is so much I wanted to say to you, so much I wish I had said. But life is so short and I don’t have anymore time. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you, always. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Eliza </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter tumbled from his fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sat, his back rigid and eyes staring blankly. Chaos screamed in his mind as he tried to make sense of the words. Of the magnitude of the bomb that had been dropped into his lap. A father. Fucking hell, he had a son. A son. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry or rage at the thought. How could be a father? How could she never have told him until it was too fucking late.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anger roiled through him. Hot and fierce and all consuming. She had <em>lied</em> to him. Kept something so fucking vital and life changing from him. How fucking <em>dare</em> she dump this on him now when he couldn’t face her on it. Couldn’t demand she tell him <em>why</em>. He should have known.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But as quickly as the anger came, it was doused in a fresh wave of guilt and shame. This was just as much his fault as it had ever been hers. All Eliza had ever done was love him. She believed in him, encouraged him, and he’d pushed her aside for his own glory. He had seen there was <em>something</em> in her eyes that night. Something in the set of her brow that told him there was something she wanted to say, something she <em>needed </em>to say, but he blundered on with his needs. His wants. And she’d said nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t blame her…Not fully, as much as he wanted to. And he wanted to so badly. If she had told him…God, he didn’t know what he would have done. What path he would have chosen. The life he…They could have had. And now he never would. She had taken that choice from him and all he could do now was flounder in the aftermath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom scrubbed his face with his hands. Confusion warred with the twin flames of exhaustion and frustration. If he could only turn his mind off, just for a short while. He knew that couldn’t happen, but he would give just about anything to try. Wearily, he pushed himself up to his feet once more and over towards the desk where he had dropped his carryon the night (or was it morning, he’d lost track of time by this point) before. He lifted the small black bag and carried it back to the bed, dumping the contents onto the duvet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d packed in a rush, grabbing the first pieces of clothing his fingers touched and not caring ever much if it was at all practical. He was in desperate need of a shower; he could feel the grime of two days’ travel clinging to his skin. His hair itched and a small part of him hoped that he’d feel better clean. That the soap and water would help clean his mind as well as his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The black, blank screen of his mobile stared up at him from the tangle of clothing. This was the longest he’d had the damned thing off in more time than he wished to contemplate. It wasn’t as though he was tied to the device, but with the way his world worked being in constant contact with people had become a dire necessity. If he turned the thing off it was only for the duration of a flight or for short a time as necessary. Staring down at it now, Tom found himself dreading the mess awaiting him when he finally turned it back on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snatching the mobile up he powered it on before tossing it back onto the bed and grabbing a change of clothing and his toiletry bag, disappeared into the bathroom to shower. He turned the water as hot as he could stand, stripped, washed himself quickly, and remained under the burning spray long after his skin wrinkled and pruned. Body clean but mind still racing, Tom toweled himself off quickly and dressed before padding barefoot back into the main room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He scrubbed the towel over his damp hair and allowed his attention to return to his mobile. With a less than steady hand, he grabbed the device and tapped the button on the side to wake the screen. As he feared dozens of messages blipped and beeped for his attention. By his count he’d missed ten calls from Luke, four from his mother (whom he was sure Luke had called after being unable to reach him), and another two from Emma (most likely in response to his lack of response to their mother). He let out a soft groan, warring with the idea of ignoring the messages longer or getting the unpleasantness awaiting him out of the way as rapidly as possible. He knew they cared, knew he’d worried them something fierce, but Tom wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to face all of that now. Not when his head was still spinning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a groan of frustration he tossed the mobile back onto the bed and paced the room. He needed to do <em>something</em> but he’d be buggered if he knew what. <em>Prime parental example I’m making</em>, he thought bitterly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The thought caught him up short. Fuck, he was a father. But what the fuck did he actually know about that?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d been an uncle for years now, both literally and honorably. Had done what his elder sister referred to as parenting lite; minding his nieces and honorary nephews for an afternoon at a time, playing silly games with them. It had always been with the firm knowledge that he would be handing them back to their parents. He’d always loved children and had wanted them in that vague future <em>someday</em>. But the idea of actually being a father to a child he’d only learned of…It terrified him. How in the world could he be a father when half the time he couldn’t keep his own shit together?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A flash of panic ripped through him. Would be even be allowed to be? All he had was Eliza’s word that the child was his. He didn’t doubt her word, Eliza was many things but never cruel. Never a liar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>But she kept </em>this <em>from you</em>, the small voice in the back of his head reminded him. <em>She never told you and she should have. What proof do you have that she’s told you the truth in this now?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook the thought away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>No. She isn’t…, </em>He winced, <em>wasn’t a liar. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But where did that leave him? He’d had no knowledge of the boy, of Jaime, until a handful of hours ago. He had no part in his life. He didn’t know the boy and he doubted Jaime had any real knowledge of him either. Did he really have the right to come in and uproot this boy from everything he’d ever known? Could he even do that? Did he have the legal rights to?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck, Luke was going to skin him alive. After years of relatively no issues, here Tom was dumping a potentially catastrophic one right into Luke’s unknowing lap. This would be a scandal no matter how they approached it. Luke would have his hands full sorting through the mess, and cursing his name the entire time. There was no way this could be kept quiet, not really. What kind of father would he be if he dragged his child into the middle of that sort of madness? The press wouldn’t leave him or the boy alone. And even if by some miracle they did, what kind of father could he be if he were home? He didn’t have a job that came with steady, regular hours. He couldn’t just drop everything and be there the way the boy…his son, <em>Jaime</em>, would need.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it would be better if he walked away now. If he refused to claim the boy as his own. Jaime had his grandmother, had Eliza’s sisters. He would have a family. He didn’t need the complication of Tom’s life tangled with his own. He was too young. It wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be fair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>But Eliza wanted this. She wanted him to know me….Or at least for me to know about him.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Could he truly turn his back and walk away again? Could he do that knowing what he knew now? Knowing that Jaime was out there?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck!” he screamed, slamming his fist into the wall. He felt the plaster crack beneath his knuckles. He cursed again at both his fit of temper and the damage he’d done to the wall and his hand. There would be bruising, he was sure of it. And swollen knuckles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Great example we’re setting here</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck indeed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t walk away. Not now. He knew it just as certainly as he knew in his heart Jaime was his. He couldn’t, wouldn’t turn his back on his family. It was stupid, he was being stupid. He could hear his agent screaming that at him now. This was the absolute worst time for this to happen. Nothing in his life was equipped for his sudden summersault into unexpected parenthood. He had projects lined up well into the following year. Fuck, he wouldn’t even be in the country half the bloody time. He had people he was accountable to, deals he couldn’t in good faith back out of now. This was a monumentally stupid idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he couldn’t shake it away now that it had taken root in his mind. Couldn’t shake the mad and sudden impulse that he <em>had</em> to do this. He had to be involved as much, or as little, as he would be allowed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For Eliza’s sake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For Jaime’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom had his mobile in his hand and the number dialed before he had the chance to second guess just what the hell he was doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mrs. Michaels…Keira…It’s Tom.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He rubbed his hands against the sides of his jeans in a vain effort to disguise how clammy they’d become. He’d been fighting down the steady flurry of butterflies that had seemed to take up residence in his gut in the entire ride. For the hundredth time he contemplated simply climbing back into the cab and back to life as he’d always known it. Instead, he handed the cabbie his fare and made his way down the brick lined path on unsteady feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the phone Keira had made herself perfectly clear; She wouldn’t prevent him from meeting Jaime, he was his father and she wouldn’t deny him that, but she asked, pleaded with him, to not tell the boy just who he was. To tell Jaime that he was simply an old friend of his mother’s. “He’s confused enough as it is, losing his mother. I don’t want to risk more pain and confusion if you decide you can’t do this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words had stung but Tom respected them. What right did he have to drop all of this onto a little boy who just had his world turned upside down? The last thing he needed right then was more upheaval. More change. He needed steady and secure and familiar now more than ever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She had also insisted on having the meeting take place in her home. “Some place he knows, where he will be comfortable.” Jaime was living with her now. Both he and Eliza had been under her roof for the last year or so. Since shortly after Eliza learned just how sick she actually was. She’d wanted to have her family close, wanted Jaime to be somewhere safe if the inevitable happened. Just in case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The house was just as he’d remembered it. A two story semi with green shutters and a dark blue door. Walking up the path to the door brought back far too many ghosts he’d thought he’d purged. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. He stood at the door for several minutes, trying to work up the nerve to ring the bell. He debated, once more, on the better part of discretion before raising his hand and pressing his finger firmly against the cool metal of the bell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He heard the shuffling of feet inside growing steadily louder as they drew near. He swallowed against the lump which had taken root in his throat. The door opened and he met Keira’s cool gaze. Her face was less lined than it had been in the hospital corridor but grief still painted her features. He could see it in the set of her jaw and the haunted look in her eyes. She nodded at him and ushered him inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The front hall was dim and cool, he blinked several times adjusting to the change in light. He followed quietly behind her as she walked down the hall and towards the living room in the back of the house. Tom could hear the low murmur of the television and wondered what Jaime would be watching. His own nieces had been taken with Dora and god knows what else at that age. What did he like? What did he hate? What was his favorite bedtime story? Favorite song? God these were things he should have known without thinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He froze at the edge of the doorway, suddenly terrified of what awaited him. Could he actually do this? What was he supposed to say? To do?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jaime, love,” he heard Keira call. “I have someone who’d like to say hello.” She turned towards Tom and beckoned him forward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a deep, shuddering breath Tom took the last few steps and walked into the brightly lit room. In front of the television, with its program now on mute, sat Jaime. His eyes were wide, curious, and a stunning shade of hazel. Eliza’s eyes. His face…God it was like looking in a mirror. The boy had his same mop of dark blonde curls, his rounded cheeks, and bright smile. If he’d had any doubts they’d been completely and utterly obliterated. This boy. <em>Jaime</em>. Was his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello,” he heard himself say, his voice strangely calm and even despite the furious pounding of his heart. “My name is Tom. I’m a…I’m a friend of your mum’s.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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